It’s a curious thing when you can pinpoint a defining moment of your life, a formative event which took place some-when in your childhood and still reflects on who and what you’ve become.
I must have had a problem falling asleep. My mother told me to close my eyes and think of a story, any story. To play it like a movie or a book in my head. She told me to close my eyes and think of a story I would like to see play out in my dreams. And that was it for me. Even now, I always have a story in my head and every night before I go to sleep I add another chapter to it.
You know that feeling when you’re reading a really good book? A book that makes you smile just thinking about it, with characters you love and cherish and want to keep by your side forever? Well, if I’m thinking a good story, I can have that whenever I want. At any point of the day I can read a sentence or two, see what my characters are doing.
I might be wrong, but I think my stories are the reason I seldom have nightmares and why I often have dreams which are so beautiful and complex that I’m capable of having an amazing week just because of a single dream.
I have never told this to anyone. I don’t know why. Maybe because these are my stories and if I wanted anyone to know of them I would have put them down on paper. Maybe because I thought people would think I’m weird.